Ever since the divorce of my parents I have had two homes and it never bothered me. I liked having two of everything: two bedrooms to decorate, two places to escape to, two closets to fill, it was nice being able to have double the luxuries. I felt lucky to have parents who lived in the same town, even if they were in separate houses, I always felt at home no matter where I was staying. It got even better when the amount of parents I had doubled along with all of my other belongings. The people my parents chose to remarry were wonderful and the size of our family quickly grew. It seemed as though my world had doubled overnight and with that so did the love I received. I loved having an enormous extended family, my two Christmases turned into four, family reunions were larger than life and I felt as though I had an unlimited supply of relatives to go to for affection and support. It was so easy for me to split my time between all of the grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and immediate family because we all lived within miles of each other. I had never really known anything else; until half of my world moved to Phoenix, Arizona and I decided to move with it.
My mom and stepdad dated long distance for four years while I was in high school. Once I graduated and went off to college they finally got married and my mother relocated to Phoenix. It was exciting, new, and I was happy they were finally able to be together but GOD did I miss my mom. I’m a daddy’s girl, don’t get me wrong, but dads just don’t have the same nurturing power that moms do. No matter the kind of day you have or the problems you’re facing, moms always know the right things to say or the perfect way to make you feel better. I was 18, trying hard to figure out what I even wanted to do with my life and I need my mom. So, I decided to move to Phoenix to be with her, I packed up my entire life into way too many boxes (seriously, I have too much stuff, WHERE DOES IT ALL COME FROM?) had a very tearful goodbye with my dad and family in Chicago and set off to spend my days in the sun soaked desert of Arizona.
At first it was fun, it felt like I was on vacation. I had nowhere to be, nothing to do but lay by the pool (in January might I add) and I got to explore a whole new state. Then it set in that the ticket my parents had bought me to fly to Phoenix was a one-way ticket and I wasn’t on vacation. I wasn’t going back home: this was my new home. After reality hit me, hard, I started to build a life here. I found a job, I registered to classes, made new friends, found an apartment, all of the things I needed to do to try and fit into my new life. I seemed to be doing well, and I was so busy spending time with all of the new people I had met that I never missed the people back in Chicago. The first few months of living here were fine and lighthearted. You get sucked into a routine and it feels natural to be in this new place. It wasn’t until the summer heat kicked in that I realized how miserable I could get being away from my true home. The scorching temperatures melted away any comfort I felt moving to a completely different state. I became to resent everything about where I lived and I vividly remember stopping to gas one summer night, calling my dad, and begging to move back to Illinois. He talked me off of the ledge and encouraged me to give it another chance. I stuck it out, made it to the end of fall then quickly fell back in love with the desert the minute the temperatures dropped. Every year I repeated the cycle. I had a blast while still working my butt off, I met new people, I worked different jobs, I worked my way towards graduation one credit at a time yet every summer the heat wave brought back the urge to go home. I would spend my vacation time visiting my family in Chicago and at the end of the trip I wouldn’t want to leave. I don’t know why, but my attempts to move back never panned out, and everything always seemed to fall into place in Arizona. I started to realize that this is where I am meant to be right now, and 6 years later I am still here.
Even though I’ve accepted this western state as my “home” I still get homesick for my Midwestern town. While I have some family out here, I still feel a void in my heart. Not being able to see my dad, my step mom, my siblings even my grandparents. It weighs heavy on me every day. Like I said, I go home every summer to visit, and I always spend Christmas in Chicago but two times a year never feels like enough. I struggle to see Facebook posts of family birthday gatherings, bar trivia nights, even missing out on anniversary parties, wedding showers, baby showers or just random weekend barbecues. No matter if I am in Chicago or Phoenix, I am always bound to be left out of something. Having two homes was great when they were just blocks away, but to be 1500 miles apart is hard.
I know I am not the only one to struggle with this. So many of my friends here are from the Midwest and I see their want to be in two places at once. It’s a never ending battle but it’s something I have learned how to manage:
Whenever I find myself down and out because I’m far away from family I reach out to as many people as I can. I text my brother a funny GIF or an inside joke or share a playlist with my dad of all of the songs him and I jam out to in the car when we get to be together.
I know you would think that looking at pictures of your family on social media having fun without you might seem depressing, but I think it helps to see the memories they are making. I scroll through pictures and imagine what they must have talked about or laughed about and it makes me feel like I was there.
I Facetime my family on holidays like Easter or Thanksgiving and after hearing the voices of all of my favorite people I feel better.
On days when I am really struggling I find something that reminds me of home, like eating at Portillo’s which is a Chicago icon we were lucky enough to inherit in Phoenix, or I’ll go to a Cubs game and pretend I’m at Wrigley Stadium or I’ll spend time with my mom and reminisce about the times when it was just me and her on our beautiful suburban street. Even though all of this is not as good as the real thing, it always helps.
Being homesick is tough. I know. It wears me down on my darkest days and it almost feels like a constant shadow looming above my head. Even though it’s overwhelming, it’s something that you can survive. Look through old photos to remember the times you got to be at home, try and think of what it was that made you feel safe and nostalgic. Put up trinkets around your room from your hometown or find a candle that reminds you of your favorite hangout spot. Call your friends and family to get caught up on all the juicy gossip or just to tell them all about your day. Find pockets of time when you can take a weekend getaway just to visit for a few days. Whatever it is that makes that feeling a little less consuming, do it. Nothing is too big or too small when it comes to feeing at home.